
Class r S - "b 0-04 

Book •Ac.ULBd 

GopghtN" 4*^u^'K 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



Buttercups and Clover 

AND 

Other Verses 



BY 

ARTHUR WARD 

(Arthur W. Barnes) 



Drawings by 
IDA C. FAILING 



Denver, Colorado 
1902 



TSs. 



Ai 



6 :^ 



'3-^ 



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'rKTXre?4:<Y Of 
CONGRESS, 

^^3. 19 1502 



CLASS a^XXc Ho, 



Copyright, 1902. 
By AKTHxm W. Bajlhhs. 



CONTENTS. 

PAGB. 

Buttercups and Clover 7 

Spring's Prophet 10 

Gleanings Afield 12 

Love's Echo 15 

Song-Time 17 

A Breath of May 19 

On Winter Plains 21 

Awakening . . . , 23 

A Summer Love , 25 

Under the Apple Trees . . . . , 27 

On Shore . .• 29 

Trouting 32 

Spring Opening 37 

Rustling Days 40 

After the Snow 42 

Love's Token 44 

The Discovery 46 

The Year 48 

His Harvest 49 

When We Were Boys 51 

An Ancient Pharmacy 54 

Thanksgiving at Grandma's 56 

Little New Year 58 

Thanksgiving Time 60 

Night and Morning 62 

An Interview 65 



PAGE. 

Thanksgiving Hours 69 

Christmas Gift 72 

The Rescue 74 

With Regrets 76 

Unusual 78 

The Miner's Tale 80 

Noggins 84 

Promoted 88 

War and Peace 90 

Coming Home 93 

Mustered Out 97 

The First Prisoner 100 

With the Fleet 105 

On the Old Camp Ground 107 

To Ian MacLaren — A Wayside Greeting 109 

Beyond the Shadows 112 

Introspection 114 

Chords of Hope 115 

Scattered Blossoms 117 



PREFATORY NOTE. 

In this book are included some selections that 
have never appeared in print before, and others 
that have been published in magazines and papers 
in different parts of the country. 

I take pleasure in acknowledging special obliga- 
tions to the publishers of tlie Youth's Companion, 
for the use of ''Buttercups and Clover,'' and to the 
Outlook for the privilege of printing ''Spring's 
Prophet/' 

My thanks are also due to Rev. John Watson, 
D.D. (Ian Maclaren), for his kind permission to 
use "A Wayside Greeting.'' 

There are here presented several poems of the 
Spanish War, two referring to the return of the 
Colorado First from the Philippines. 

The story in the poem of "The First Prisoner" 
is founded on an incident occurring in the early 
part of the War of the Revolution. 

Holiday poems and poems of the seasons find 
their place in other parts of the book. 

A, W. B. 



I give you vv^elcome, comrades all, 

Who in our circle find a place, 
And as the loitering moments fall, 

Take council, face to face. 
And if some answering chord I find, 

That trembles in a kindly heart, 
'Tis not in vain my words are lined, 

I've played my little part. 



BUTTERCUPS AND CLOVER. 



BUTTERCUPS AND CLOVER. 

Down on the desk she laid her head, 
The starting tears conceaHng, 

Down in her heart, the ache was there, 
The dreary, homesick feeling. 

The little mistress, all alone. 
Felt friendless and forsaken. 

The daily drudgery of life. 
Had all her courage taken. 

'Nobody cares,'' she whispered low. 

She certainly was crying ; 
She listened to the plaintive breeze 

That through the pines came sighing. 



BUTTERCUPS AND CLOVER. 

She heard a noise, and some one now 
Was through the entr>' walking ; 

And then was standing by her chair, 
Just at her elbow, talking. 



''Please, teacher." said a childish voice, — 
Whsit zi*as it Jack was sa\ing? 

"You looked as though your mother would 
Xot let you go out pla>'ing: 

"I thought that you was feeling bad. 
And that you'd like some candy. 
But when I htmted in my bank 
There wa'n't a penny handy: 



'And so I went and brought you these. 
Just buttercups and clover!" 

Her tears were falling on the flowers. 
But soon the shower was over. 



BUTTERCUPS AND CLOVER. 

He pointed to the buttercups, — 

''You see, I play they're money!'' 
Then showed her, in the clover-blooms, 
How she might find the honey. 



*'Dear little Jack !" — some one did care ! 
She kissed him three times over ; 
The whole room seemed to be in bloom 
With buttercups and clover. 



10 SPRING'S PROFHBT. 



SPRINGS PROPHET. 

Wlien day is new, and seas of gold 

Break over barren fields of brown 

And naked trees, by Winter's :: 

Mace bs^re y.-. - t .: ::i:iks of cold 

White sn:v. . — faintly my waidng ear 

Catches a rushing thrill 

Of swe^ness, in a tumbling trill 

Of joy-notes dear. 

A troubadour in speckled gray 

Heralds the buds and blooms of May, 

And, as he tunes his quivering lay. 

Says stream and lake at last shall yield ; 

That Tack Frost's white and spariding shield 

Xo more shall turn the shafts of sunUgfat rays : 



SPRINGES PROPHET. 11 

That little pieces of the sky 

Shall fall in violets by and by, 

Noiseless as snow in winter days ; 

Then other birds shall sing, 

While summer clouds float low. 

Whose glad tears, falling soft, shall bring 

Out stars of gold, that show 

In grassy skies of green. 

Where dandelion-blooms are seen; 

Gently the sun shall lift the sleeping flowers ; 

Up from their drowsy beds, 

Fresh with the kiss of dews and showers. 

In mantling blush they'll raise their heads. 

And so, from out his throbbing throat, 

My prophet pours his simple tale 

Of sparrow-lore, in fluttering note. 

In glen and field, o'er hill and dale. 



12 GLEANINGS AFIELD. 



GLEANINGS AFIELD. 

Da\''s first dew is on the meadow ; 

Heaven's dew on daisies white : 
Where the sunrise glints in crystals. 

Rainbow jewels gleam with light. 

Grass-blades hide *neath cobweb-laces 
Shimmering with frosted mist; 

Rosy red in mantling blushes. 
Bright Aurora keeps her tryst. 

Full, from soft and sleepy chirping. 
Trilling clear on sk\-\vard note, 

Matin hymns of bright-robed songsters 
High through leafy arches float. 



GlyKANINGS AFIEI.D. 13 

Where the running blackberry tangles 

Round the borders of the field, 
In the stone-wairs cooling shadow, 

Brooding low. Bob White's concealed. 



'More-more-wet !" he plaintive whistles ; 

Anxious mowers scan the skies; 
Pausing as their scythes they're whetting. 

Each his cautious forecast tries. 



All along the sloping hillside 
There's a golden carpet thrown. 

Where, in summer's haze, abundant 
Harvest gathered home has grown. 



Sweeter far than fields of roses 
Or the blooming orange spray. 

Blows the breath across the valley. 
Of the scattered new-mown hay. 



14 GLEANINGS AFIELD. 

Oh, to fall into its billows, 

There to bathe in fragrance deep! 

Loud the locust's mazy whirring! 
Soft the mower's swishing sweep ! 



Fair in rustic framing woven. 
Love-lit skies are bending low ; 

Ruth is gleaning for her Boaz 
As in Judah long ago. 



Crickets chirp in evening glooming, 
Drowsily my senses roam. 

By the brook the fire-fly's flashing 
And the cows are cominsf home. 



Oh, the home-lands, golden glowing! 

Loving hands in beck'ning call ! 
When shall I on thy dear valleys 

See the summer sunshine fall? 



I^OVE'S ECHO. 15 

LOVE'S ECHO. 

Faint through the birches floating, 

Back from the pastures wide, 
Sweet and low in its noting, 

Clear by the river-side ; 

Listen! lightly ^tis fluting, 
"Away — far away — away !" 
Mystic and light the luting, 
Tender the melting lay; 

^Fm so far — so far — from you ! 

I swing on the willow tree ! 
Em feathered, Em folded, in blue ! 

Em waiting, my mate, for thee !'' 

Now it is skyward lifting; 

Lesser and lighter grows. 
Into the breezes drifting, 

Over the lingering snows ; 



u 



^fnniHirs 



w 




SONG-TIMK. 17 



SONG-TIME. 

There's a message from the South-lands, 
Softly singing in the breeze, 
''Lift your eyes, for vernal glories 
Fall on barren fields and trees T' 

Buff-winged butterflies are floating, 
Lightsome fairies in the air, 

Fast the pulse of life is quickening; 
Breathing, budding, everywhere. 

Stars of hazel-flov/ers are lifting; 

Yellow cowslips scatter gold ; 
Busy workers gather pollen ; 

Sunshine searches corners cold. 



18 SONG-TIME. 

Near the sparkling waters' edges. 
Reverend blackbirds gravely walk, 

Chattering through the bending sedges, 
Striving all at once to talk. 



In the greening woodland opens. 
Crops for boyish hands to reap. 

Partridge bush and red'ning fox-plums, 
Soon through drying leaves will peep. 



All the orchestra of Nature, 

In a mingling choral strain, 
Gladly strikes the hallelujah, 
''Bloom has come to Earth ao:ain !' 



A BREATH OF MAY. 19 



A BREATH OF MAY. 

The clouds have flung their crystal showers ; 

The brooks are gladly singing ; 
And, far and wide, the nodding flowers 

To life are freshly springing. 

And odors new of growing green. 

The zephyrs pure are filling ; 
The bees are working for their queen, 

There's early morning trilling. 

'Tis five, and time is striking May ; 

The year's bouquet is making. 
The Iambs are on the hills at play. 

The peeping world is waking. 



20 A BREATH OF MAY. 

The bluebird pipes his tender note. 
And full in fervor thrilling. 

The sparrow in his speckled coat 
His warbling joy is spilling. 



Afield the children all will go. 
They all will go a-Maying. 

Where lately o'er the driven snow 
They gaily rode a-sleighing. 



Oh. songs of pines and willow trees I 
Oh. happy woodland voices ! 

There's blending music in the breeze. 
And earth and air rejoices. 



ON WINTER PLAINS. 21 



ON WINTER PLAINS. 

Inland away from sea and tide, 
The distant mountains far in sight, 

With driven snow the plains are spread, 
The summer flocks have taken flight. 

But still some feathered winter guests 
Are feeding on the drying seeds, 

In fluffy coats content they chat 

And flutter through the leafless weeds. 

But I am lost ! away from men, 
The rolling prairie stretches drear. 

My little roof seems less than home. 
At night I watch the heavens for cheer. 



2S ON WINTER PLAINS. 

I dream Idiat rounded windows small. 

In millions break the walls I see. 
And btncj all those twinHing fires 

Are si^nnal beacons set for me. 



Lone from the world that thinks and lires, 

:on the whitened field, 
: : - 7? of Nature^ book, 

.-.:.: Tri tt 5f:rt: rre rerealed. 



AWAKENING. 23 



AWAKENING. 

The Arctic curtain from the North, 
That falls when autumn dies, 

On spring's new scenes, in living greens. 
Slowly begins to rise. 

Soft from the South, a balmy breeze 
From orange groves shall blow, 

Starting the buds on leafless trees, 
And melting winter's snow. 

The king of birds, in twittering words, 

Has issued his commands ; 
Quick to obey, the fluttering flocks 

Wheel out for Northern lands. 



AWAKEXIXG- 



G : — 



A SUMMER LOVE. 25 



A SUMMER LOVE. 



1 love you !" I know it, pansy ; 

My trysting is glad with you ; 
Your face has the peace of Heaven, 

And your eyes are always true ; 

Fm sure your feathery wrinkles 
Are not from fretting or care, 

They are just the lines of cheer, dear, 
That vour heart has written there. 



Did you make love to the rainbow ? 

Or the rainbow bend to you ? 
The richness of your purple and gold, 

Did you catch from its sunbeam's hue ? 



26 A SUMMER LOVE. 

You say there's always a promise, 
Where there is a rainbow bright? 

Trust whispers, wherever it arches, 
That there, it is ever light. 

Your touch is as soft as velvet, 
Like the coat of the bumble-bee ; 

Sweet, from your place, in modest grace, 
My pansy, look up to me. 

You're a bit vain in the morning, 
Sparkling in diamonds of dew ; 

But the leal light of your face, dear. 
Makes everything seem more true. 



UNDER THE APPLE TREES. 27 



UNDER THE APPLE TREES. 



Oh, why of Cathay am I dreaming, 
In drowsy contented delight. 

As soft breezes rustle the tree-tops, 
Dressed in their bridals of white? 



I'm drifting through sweet-scented billows, 
And slowly Time loses its hours ; 

While the pink-tinted shells of blossom, 
Flutter in floral showers. 



Like the flushing cheek of a lassie. 
As the marriage bells blithely chime. 

Is the tinge of the blushing petals, 
In apple-blossom time. 



28 



UNDER THE APPLE TREES. 



All up in the air there's a humming 
Of an old labor-song sublime, 

For the nuptials of Summer coming. 
In apple-blossom time. 




ON SHORE. 29 



ON SHORE. 

Shoreward we trim our snowy sails 
Where sand-hills in the gloaming 

Lift their round heads above the beach 
And crested rollers foaming. 



The plover calls from off the marsh ; 

The lighthouse gleams a greeting; 
We dip to white-winged travelers 

Out to the windward beating. 



From the far west, the flooding rays 
Of golden glory streaming, 

Show a bright way across the spray, 
In burnished splendor beaming. 



30 ON SHORE. 

The surf moans low upon the bar ; 

The fisher-boy is calHng; 
The water splashes at the bow, 

Where deep our anchor's falling. 



The rowlocks answer to the dip 
Of oars that slow are sweeping; 

The boat tips light upon the strand 
Where fast the tide is creeping. 



Before the doorway of our tent, 
A welcome beacon keeping, 

Lit from the old wreck stranded high, 
Our ruddy camp-fire's leaping. 



We hear the roar along the shore 

Of splashing surges meeting. 
Soothing to dreams of slumb'rous streams 

Through gravelly shoals retreating. 



ON SHORE. 31 

Faint and more faint the billowy beat 

Of ebb and flow is stealing; 
The misty scenes of Elf-land grow, 

Our lightest sense ensealing. 



Till, lost to thought of life and love. 
We wait the breath of morning, 

When crimson, dripping from the sea, 
Reddens the Sun to dawning. 



32 TROUTING. 



TROUTING. 

Thou gently sweet disciple of a master wise and 

good, 
Whose rules for joys serene long on the calendar 

have stood, 
Quaint Izaak Walton's mystic craft I much com- 
mend to thee, 
When leaving men and busy mart the days go 

tranquilly. 
For patient purpose gives reward to him who 

wields the rod, 
Not o'er the back of errant youth who willful 

ways have trod. 
But over finny favorites who silent glide away — 
Butting their heads against the streams where 

shattered sunbeams play. 



TROUTING. 33 

We all admit 'twas pretty fun that Simple Simon 

had, 
On the day he went a-fishing when he was but a 

lad. 
Tis fine to feel the bite of shark, if 'tisn't in your 

flesh, 
To angle on the salty brine or in clear waters 

fresh. 
I love to pull a pickerel, a salmon or a cod. 
To float a seine, to throw a line or silent hold a 

rod; 
But angles right or angles left do not at all com- 
pare 
With angling for the canny trout with sportsman's 

cunning care. 



If your weather eye's not open, to start you will 

not dare; 
For it must not be too stormy and it should not 

be too fair. 



34 TROUTING. 

And, as you fish, the breezes ought to meet you 

in the face; 
Turning your footsteps down the stream, your way 

do not retrace; 
While across the whirling eddies you lightly make 

your cast. 
Just keep your shadow on the shore or to your 

boat held fast. 
And then, with well-whipped lancewood and 

lightest of bamboo — 
A lithe nine ounces quivering in very life with 

you — 



You're ready for the placid pool or little moun- 
tain brook. 

By rushing stream or shaded pool to con your 
well-filled book; 

To see the meeting tip and butt, the silken fibres 
fine, 



TROUTING. 35 

From fly to reel-knot tested well, as spins your 
faithful line; 

To wade or wait, to sit or lie, (forgive me if 'tis 

true) , 
Thereby to show a goodly mess which all were 

hooked by you. 
The speckled gleaming beauties break the surface 

with a dash; 
They dart beneath the lily pads and in the ripples 

flash ; 



Their silvery forms are quivering and leaping in 

the spray. 
Uncoil your leader ! launch your plumes ! make 

ready for the fray! 
They have a really dazzling look as side by side 

they lay; 
'T caught them, all,'' in honest pride, I seem to hear 

you say. 



3b TROUTING. 

And when in odorous quiet they are browning in 

the pan. 
They are a most enticing sight to any angling 

man. 
Or when they're roasted in the heat of ashes 'neath 

the lire 
And come out white and smoking hot to meet our 

heart's desire — 
Well I when I think of it, you see, I cannot seem 

to wait. 
And sort of 2:et uneasv and 22:0 to "cuttin' bait." 



SPRING OPENING. 37 



SPRING OPENING. 

Slowly awaking and lifting their heads, 
Gladly forsaking their cold, frozen beds, 
Out for Spring's opening, bright, fresh and fair, 
Every one welcome, not one to spare, 
Modest anemones, hiding so still. 
Snow-drop and crocus, and gold daffodil. 
Dog-wood and violet, blossoming sweet. 
Nodding salutes, as the new-comers meet. 
The notes of the bluebird, greeting the flowers ; 
The song of the robin, calling for showers ; 
Alders in tassels, maples in plumes. 
Soft pussy-willows, witch-hazel blooms ; 
Tree-top rehearsals, after the Night 
Lifts up the curtain and lets in the light. 



38 SPRING OPENING. 

Mating and wooing, 

Happy pursuing, 

Fluttering and billing, 

Chipping and trilling. 

Ready to build. 

Carrying straws ; . 

Hopes now fulfilled; 

Never a pause. 

Plump little breasts, 

In round, cosy nests. 

Small eggs warm. 

Away from the storm ; 

Shells now are breaking. 

Over the side, 

Hungry mouths open. 

Open so wide. 
Twittering of swallows, fighting of wrens. 
Calling of catbirds, ferns in the fens, 
Carpets of mosses, for lone rocky glens, 
Four-footed sleepers creeping out from their dens. 



SPRING OPENING. 39 

Yellow and black the bumble-bees buzz, 
Dressed in their suits of velvety fuzz ; 
Bumming and humming out in the fields, 
Where honey its treasures of sweetening 3delds. 
Nature's Reception-Room furnished at last. 
Forgotten the days of the storm and the blast, 
Warmed by the sunshine that tempers the air, 
The bosom of Earth no longer is bare. 



40 RUSTLING DAYS. 



RUSTLING DAYS. 

Crispy and clear, the morning bright 

In frosty freshness dawns from night, 

And, tingling on the ruddy cheeks. 

The air its tonic chill bespeaks. 

On wall and limb, with footsteps light. 

The squirrels speed in nimble flight. 

Across the sky a hermit crow 

On lazy rising wing flies low. 

As day creeps on, a hazy mist 

Veils purple hills for sunlight's tryst. 

And, whisp'ring through the rustling maize, 

The breeze a drowsy requiem plays. 

Across the fields where harvests wait, 

The quail in answer calls his mate. 



RUSTLING DAYS. 



41 



Where yellow blossoms paid the cost, 
Barberries redden in the frost. 
In savinned pastures, growing late, 
To summer days that lingering wait, 
V\'aving "good-by,'' with parting nod. 
In splendor droops the golden-rod. 
Gray ember days, dim glows the light. 
In dreamy softness, soothing quite. 
The heated care in summer's train, 
And kindling twilight fires again ! 



.^^ 




42 AFTER THE SNOW. 



AFTER THE SNOW. 

'Tis faded, ever}* fleecy fold 

That lingered over leaf and sod. 

In sheltered hollows chill and cold, 

WTiere, on the withered golden-rod. 

But late, in chirping social chat. 

The chickadee and snowbird sat, 

Qear waters, sparkling, ripple with the breeze, 

\\Tiere melting floats of crystal idly tossed. 

And running brooks that singing seek the seas. 

No longer murmur 'neath their roofs of frost, 

In-mufiled music almost lost. 

Hid in the leafy meshes of the trees 

The featherx- citizens of air 

Brood in their woven homes their tiny eggs to life. 

In meadow and in brook the piping clans awake. 

And busv blackbirds chatter in and out the brake. 



AFTER THE SNOW. 43 

In neighborly content or brisk and cheerful strife, 
And fresh in dainty tints from Nature's palette laid, 
Flower faces sweetly smile from out their grassy 

shade. 
The winter warms and loses chill, 
And softly now the bluebird tunes his plaintive fife. 
The cruel, cutting wind has sheathed its sharpened 

knife 
And warm the sunshine lies along the hill, 
And pillowed clouds their misty rainbows spill. 
'Tis past, the storm, the ice, the snow, 
And kindly zephyrs gently blow 
From off the land to kiss the sea, 
For spring is born, the earth is free. 



LO\TE7S lOKEX.. 



Iffi tie ^5^ t^K '.L ^ ?3r-r r^3-f "f^ rctasu 



The Ikiss ww& ^j-- 



Wkreltt 



Jimi tifrtf gr^tfTTTTg' grsissIiiiZLl:^ rirmxii^iL 
BM hnm^kL Ac lowm of lEa^^^ 
SbboI unit Spnn^ nad giffwwifl Ihji. 



IvOVB^S TOKEN. 45 

But full from the heart the lover sang, 

And the strain was blithely gay, 
x-\s the echoed roundelay clearly rang, 
''The Year has been kissed by May !" 



46 THE DISCO\^RY. 



THE DISCOX'ERY. 

He clambered up the narrow ledge 
And trod the broadened height. 

And stood in silence looking down 
On depths of dazzling light. 

A silver su:: . rly framed 

In rocky barriers high, 
ilirrored the snowy clouds above 

That drifted in the skv. 



And shadows fell across the lake 
WTiere hemlock, spruce and pine 

Flung out their straggling needled boughs 
In sharply serried line. 



THE DISCOVERY 47 

A lonely ptarmigan in gray 

Rose fluttering at his feet; 
A squirrel sent a challenge back, 

In line of swift retreat. 

And often there the stag had come, 

His velvet nose to dip, 
Into the crystal, cooling flood. 

In slow content to sip. 

The hunter rested on his gun 
And, breathing through the trees, 

The whisper of a sighing song 
Was borne upon the breeze. 

Oh gem of beauty, mountain set ! 

Clear well of heaven's dew ! 
The golden sunshine lights thy face. 

Thy peace is deep and true ! 



13 THE YEAR. 



THE YEAR. 

Scarce has the Yule clog blazed its wonted time. 

Its last brand left to light another fire. 

When from the silence of each hfted spire 

There falls the summons of the Xew Year's chime : 

Sharp peals that ring o'er sparkling worlds of rime. 

Telling no tale of age and dying powers. 

Youth sings the songs of life and morning hours. 

Fresh is the promise of each favored clime. 

Green grows the grass beneath the banks of snow. 

Then white anemones Uft faces pure : 

The growing year, with ling'ring steps and slow. 

Loiters through fields where roses hold their lure 

And lustrous simbeams light the lands aglow; 

Then Yule clogs flash again and night is stu-e. 



HIS HARVEST. 49 



HIS HARVEST. 

He's getting ready for market, 
The lad who holds the oars, 

And dips in the silvered surface 
That mirrors grassy shores. 



And the sun-browned hands are busy, 
As dropping crystal gems, 

He lifts from the cooling waters 
The lightly anchored stems. 



All golden white lay the lilies 
And hide his shoeless feet; 

And faintly the incense is floating 
In waves of perfume sweet. 



50 HIS HAR\*EST. 

And brighter then are the faces. 
So dull with tired care, 

That look at the laddie waiting 
Beside the crossing there. 



Oh, fragrant bloom of the waters ! 

Oh, breath of gem-set hills I 
The dream of thy dew\- kisses 

The longing spirit thrills. 



The dty is greeting the country- : 
The lake the dusty street: 

And there is the lad left waiting. 
Where track and roadwav meet. 



.\nc laey that bought by the wayside. 

As mile on mile is rolled. 
Bend down to snowy petals 

That nestle hearts of gold. 



WHEN WK WERE BOYS. 51 



WHEN WE WERE BOYS. 

'Twas when we first began to know 
This good old world of ours, 

All running over wuth a wealth 
Of sunshine and of flowers, 



That everything, though full of age, 
To us seemed fresh and new, 

And all the fields of life were bright 
With rainbow-tinted dew. 



Our mother's tables groaned beneath 

A feast of viands rare. 
And sorrow seemed a fairy myth, 

We never dreamed of care. 



52 WHEN WE WERE BOYS. 

And when the night had draped the skies 
And lit the lamps of heaven, 

We drowsed in deeper depths of calm 
Than did the Sleepers Seven. 



We knew where hung the hidden fruit 

Of pasture and of wood, 
And where each feathered songster flew 

And fluttered o'er her brood. 



We knew where blossoms blushed in spring, 

Where finny fishes flashed, 
And where the brook so merrily 

O'er rock and shallow splashed. 



Oh, many a romance now we tell ! 

"When you and I were boys,'' 
About a thousand jolly times, 
A lengthened tale of joys. 



WHEN WB WERE BOYS. 53 

I wonder when this world shuts out 

Its weary song of pain, 
If in the Home-land we'll awake 

To find we're boys again! 

Not longing then, in looking back, 

For anything that's past, 
But in a world forever new, 

All satisfied at last. 



54 AN ANCIENT PHARMACY. 



AN ANCIENT PHARMACY. 

I'd only hinted at a cold 

That chill November day. 
When Grandma dropped her knitting-work, 

And put her specks away. 

I saw her moving towards the door, 

To climb the attic stair, 
I followed, with protesting voice, — 

Her pharmacy was there. 

Along the rafters sloping down, 

In goodly bunches tied. 
Were hung the pungent herbs and mint. 

Their virtues true and tried. 



AN ANCIENT PHARMACY. 55 

'Twas useless then for me to say, 

'Tm better, don't you see ?" 
My peace was made by drinking down 
A bowl of boneset tea. 



The herbs are scattered to the winds ; 

The sloping roof's decayed ; 
There's but a crumbling cellar wall 

Where I in childhood played. 



I'm thinking of that good old dame 

And all her kindly care, 
Oh, how I'd like again with her 

To climb the attic stair ! 



56 THAXKSGRTNG AT GRANDMA'S. 



TIL\XKSGmXG AT GIL\XDMA'S. 

The little guests have just arrived. 

And in their circle small, 
Have gathered by the snapping fire 

That lightens up the hall. 

And Jack, as host, stands in their midst, 

He has so much to say 
About the preparations made 

To keep Thanksgiving Day. 

And, interested all, they hear. 

'T guess we've got enough. 
For Grandma knows that cenain sure 
We need a lot of stuff. 



THANKSGIVING AT GRANDMA'S. 57 

'Tve watched the gobbler getting fat, 
I tell you, he'll be prime, 
Besides, there'll be the chicken pie. 
We'll have a jolly time. 



Tve helped them make the other pies. 
There's apple, squash and mince; 

And then there's jars and bottles full 
Of plum preserve and quince. 



''We'll have our crooked wishing-bones, 
And apples, nuts and figs, 
And on the table you will see 
Two little roasted pigs." 



With ''ahs !" and "ohs !" and longing sighs 

They hear the bill of fare. 
Now, boys and girls, what would you give, 

If you could all be there ? 



58 LITTLE NH V VZAR. 



LITTLE XEW-YEAR. 



Dear Little Year, how bright you are. 

You're only one day tall. 
You haver/t traTeled very far. 

You're scarce a Year at all ! 



Of course I know you have a name. 
And call it all your own. 

And that youTl claim it all the same 
As if you'd (dder grown. 



I think you have ircr.-. E'f-L 

Please tell us, if you ca::. 
If you're a son of small Tom Taiuiiu, 

That verv tinv man. 



LITTI^E NEW-YEAR. 59 

There's just a sprig of mistletoe 

Left hanging in the hall, 
And if you think no one will know, 

ril kiss you, though so small. 



Tis sad your brother grew so old 

He couldn't longer stay. 
For he, though frosted with the cold. 

Was young enough to play. 



And all the time on Christmas day. 
Amongst all kinds of folks, 

'Twas good as going to a play. 
To hear him crack his jokes. 



He was a good old man you see. 
And when you have to leave, 

If you are just as good as he, 
Then every one will grieve. 



60 THANKSGIVING TIME. 



THANKSGIVING TIME. 



The hazel-nuts are brown and dry, 

The fire upon the trees 
Has blazed in yellow and in red 

And wasted on the breeze. 



The flower-plumes are bowed and bent, 
The cricket by the path 
Has left the chill of frosty nights 
And chirps upon the hearth. 

Self-satisfied, the turkey struts. 

Unmindful of his fate, 
And cranberry-meadows heap their fruit 

In barrel and in crate. 



THANKSGIVING TIME. 61 

4 

Now loit'ring by the kitchen door, 

Or near the pantry shelf, 
'Jack Horners" slyly thrust their thumbs, 

Each tasting for himself. 

Heap up the fire on cosy hearths. 

Pilgrims are on the way 
To fill the vacant chairs again, 

And keep Thanksgiving Day! 



62 NIGHT AND MORNING. 



XIGHT AXD MORXIXG. 

So sleepy now, so tired now. 

The little lad in white ! 
The pillow nests his curly head. 

It's time to say "good night.'' 



'Tis Cliristmas eve, outside the snow 

Is lying on the hill. 
The twinkling stars shine clear and bright. 

The frostv air is still. 



In gentle voice the mother tells 

About the Baby King 
And how the shepherds keeping watch 

Heard herald angels sing. 



NIGHT AND MORNING. 63 

His questions asked, his prayers all said, 

His stocking hanging high, 
^Oh mama, is it morning now ?'' 

He murmurs with a sigh. 



'Tis morning now and he's awake, 

The little lad in white, 
He tumbles out upon the floor 

When day is hardly light. 

And, oh, to be a boy again 

And such a boy as he 
Who hugs that bulging stocking tight 

In purest ecstasy ! 

How much it holds, what precious things ! 

He spreads them on the bed, 
Dear little lad, may blessings fall 

Upon your curly head! 



64 NIGHT AND MORNING. 

And when you come to man's estate, 
Though many years you see, 

Always, to us, who loved you first. 
Our little lad you'll be. 



AN INTERVIEW. 65 



AN INTERVIEW. 



I was reporting for the News 

And 'twas a wintry day, 
The ice had frozen on the trees 

In films of crystal spray. 

And as I sought the interview, 
I heard the coasters cry, 

I saw the skaters on the lake. 
The sleighs were flitting by. 

Within his counting-room he sat. 
Old Father Christmas gay, 

He gave me audience wdth a smile. 
And sent his clerks away. 



66 AN INTERVIEW. 

A laugh came rumbling from his boots, 

"It is my busy clay, 
You want some points about my work?' 
I heard him kindlv sav. 



And then it would have pleased you well 

To hear him tell the way 
To get the world in proper shape 

For keeping Christmas day. 



He told about the Yule log's cheer, 
And Christmas-trees of spruce, 

He mentioned where his turkeys grew. 
Before he turned them loose. 



He talked of tons of evergreen 
And candy mountains high. 

But when he came to mistletoe. 
He gave a weary sigh. 



AN INTKRVIBW. 67 

He said about that pretty sprig, 

The crop was always short, 
He'd hunted every country through 

And bought and bought and bought. 



^'The holly, with its berries red, 
They like it all, you know. 
But, old and young, they like the best, 
The branching mistletoe/' 



He ordered in plum-pudding hot. 
He showed m.e stockings full. 

He sang mt Christmas carols sweet. 
He cracked an Irish bull. 



And I could hardly get away. 
He followed to the street. 

And then I ran to get his words 
Upon the printed sheet. 



AS IKTERVIBW. 



I ahrays loined the dear <4d diap, 

z IS boam anew, 

:: T :fitiiigHnDom I had 



j^f^i&s^^^r 




THANKS GIVING HOURS. gg 



THANKSGIVING HOURS. 



O'er foaming surf and hollow wave 
Where rising tides the shore-lines lave 
The fisherman, remembering good, 
Looks on the depths that give him food. 



The miner holds his candle high 
And thanks the God of earth and sky 
For riches paid from wealth below, 
The minted wage of hard-struck blow. 



The farmer sees on stubbled field 
The aftermath of garnered yield. 
No anxious thoughts of famine stare ; 
His heaping cribs repay his care. 



THAXKSGI\TNG HOURS 

And whirring wheel and spindle wound 
Shows labor in its busy round, 
'Tis well that every righteous sense 
Shall find a fitting recx)mpense. 



But they who see no sunny skies 
To arch for them a paradise. 
Still question, though they silent live, 
'^Oh why should we thanksgiTing giver" 



God's wealth no stint of measure knows. 
i-If ^ : I::ess ever onward flows. 
And, somewhere, it must surely l>e. 
He keeps the gold for you and me. 



Perhaps we have not rightly sought. 
Perhaps too much of anxious thought 
Has kept away the blessing meant. 
Has claimed forever what was lent. 



THANKSGIVING HOURS. 71 

If faith be sure, thanksgiving suns 
Will shine upon earth's saddest ones, 
And golden, mellow sunshine lie 
E'en o'er the lands where harvests die. 



72 CHRISTMAS GIFT. 



CHRISTMAS GIFT. 

]\Iistletoe around the door, 
Light feet dancing on the floor. 
Spruces bent with parceled love, 
Tapers twinkling all above, 
I was there my Love to greet. 
So was Doris, blushing, sweet. 

Hard Td pleaded for a sign, 
A"\>11 she knew I wished her mine. 
Much I hoped and oft I sighed. 
Oh, to win a bonnie bride ! 
Beating heart and eyes that prayed, 
All for love of one small maid ! 

Many were the gifts that night, 
One of mine in purest white, 



CHRISTMAS GIFT. 73 

Op'ning, showed me Doris' face, 
Was there ever such a case? 
On the back I read a sign, 
There was Hghtly written, "Thine." 

Did she only mean the card? 
Could I solve the riddle hard ? 
When I questioned her, she said, 
'Have you not correctly read? 
Stupid, simple knight of mine, 
If you want the gift, 'tis thine/' 




THE RESCUE. 



THE RESCUE. 



On the rustic bridge we lingered. 
Beneath, no waters flowed. 

But green the turf on bank and slope 
Where summer verdure showed. 



Thus slyly Polly questioned me, 
"Were that a river deep. 
And I there struggling in the stream. 
Then would you downward leap?" 



I vowed I but desired the test. 
If she were in the tide, 

I overboard would madly jump 
And battle to her side. 



THE RESCUE. 75 

I ne'er knew what the witch would do, 

The words were hardly said, 
Than she was seated down below, 

V/hither she'd lightly sped. 



Demurely she was looking up, 
I wouldn't take the dare. 

I vaulted quickly o'er the rail. 
And kneeled beside her there. 



I clasped her, struggling, in my arms, 

''Oh, go away, you bear ! 
I'm pretty sure I'm safe," she said, 

''But you're not playing fair!" 



Said I, "You know in love and war, 

'Most anything is fair, 
Did I not know you wanted help. 

Of course I should not dare." 



76 WITH REGRETS. 



WITH REGRETS. 



I heard a pleading little voice, 

Behind the lilacs talking, 
And peeping through the blossoms blue, 

I halted in my walking. 



I caught my breath. Behold the girl 
Who my poor heart had taken, 

And twenty other men she'd crazed, 
If I was not mistaken. 



But here was Cupid at her feet ; 

He'd lost his bow and arrow, 
And she'd as coolly winged the boy 

As though he'd been a sparrow. 



WITH REGRETS. 77 

I laughed to see him in the plight 

That he'd so oft created, 
It was a shame so fine a lad 

Had never vet been mated. 



Alas ! a truce ! a shaft he plucked, 
On which my name was written; 

Then she bound up his broken wing ; 
That's how I got the mitten ! 



Before, Td hoped but had not known 
That she for me was caring; 

Ah ! how I raged to see her there, 
Dan Cupid's wing repairing. 



So while I mourn her healing wound, 
I can't think I was stupid. 

To be so much in love with her 
Since she e'en captured Cupid. 



78 UNUSUAL. 



L'XT 



: walks on the beaches 
le mocHiligfat stit^ €m the sands, 
:iiy receptions, 
I ^25hion's comniands. 



After the gay mountain dimlxngs 
j^jnd the roll of the ocean swdls. 

Back t-^ the Park and the pavements, 
7: jx and ddmtante bdles- 



But : :ly 

IVe : revcr. 

At Z2Jl it mv own. 



UNUSUAL. 79 

For In spite of all the delusions 
About the sweet Summer-girrs way, 

My Summer-girl loved in earnest; 
She did not intend it for play. 

So after the walks and climbings, 
We will stroll together through life, 

Fm sure my girl of the Summxr, 
In earnest, will be a true wife. 



80 THE MINER'S TALE. 



THE MIXER'S TALE. 

"Was you askin' why an' wherefore 
We g-ave him such a name? 
Well, sir, if you'll just be seated, 
I will explain the same. 

"Xow the boys they sort of reckoned 
That when he once was gone 
That there v/a'n't a thing could wake him, 
Exceptin' Gabriel's horn. 



'Which they call him 'Sleepy' Johnson, 
With reason you may say. 

Since his cabin up an' started 
An' moved itself awav. 



THE MINER'S TALE. 81 

''It was somethin' of a landslide 
That down that mountain roared, 
But as near as we could reckon, 
All through the thing he snored. 



'When his chum left for the evenin', 

Johnson was fast asleep 
An' a puffin' an' a blowin', 

His breathin' long an' deep. 



"When the whole side of the mountain 

Had started down the trail, 
We all follered through the canon, 
A feelin' rather pale. 



"Cause we s'posed we'd find a body, 
That night, or in the spring. 

When the snow would start a meltin' 
An' matin' bluebirds sing. 



11 2LT oo: m- 



liiskk: we heaLTu a ruor . 
An' we knew it nmsi: be Jcilinsan, 
For ifaal: was ^"i^^^nt^z^.^r f^'?fe- 



""Wldle the trees an" sticks €»f tindier 
Had crasiied aroond his door, 

J-^ ydk had ^Miok die niouiMaii i, 

>^ red with a snoffe. 



His sHenf'.in:" sdll was Iheari. 



THE MINER'S TALE. 83 

'So we call him 'Sleepy' Johnson 

An' that's the reason why," 
And the miner coughed a little 

And truth was in his eve. 



84 NOGGINS. 



XOGGIXS. 



He didn't look a hero, 

A dog of no degree, 
He wore a shocking yellow coat, 

That wasn't good to see. 



But when at Jerry Connors' 
Their shack was all burned up, 

We got to thinking after that, 
He was a splendid pup. 

Xow Tom was with the baby, 
His mother gone away. 

And having got the child asleep, 
Young Tom went out to play. 



NOGGINS. 85 



Just how it really happened, 
No one will ever know, 

But pretty soon the sloping roof 
Was blazing up like tow. 



And Tom was in the hollow, 

He didn't see the smoke, 
The mother from the distance saw, 
'Twas then that Noggins spoke. 



And how his yelp was ringing! 

And he was making tracks, 
You couldn't then have frightened him 

With fifty blazing shacks. 



And there that precious baby 
Was lying on the floor, 

It didn't seem as though his ma 
Would see him any more. 



86 NOGGINS. 

The cur he just appeared to know 
That something wasn't right, 

And in he dashed right through the fire, 
Completely out of sight. 



And Tommy from his pla}-ing 
Came screaming up the hill. 

Just as the dog was dragging out 
That blessed little Bill. 



And then there was a hugging. 
The dog all singed and burned, 

Came in for quite a share himself. 
Which he had fairly earned. 



And now at Connors' cabin. 

Right up there by the hill. 
They love that Xoggins most as much 

As thev do little Bill. 



NOGGINS. 87 



Oh, say, there he's a coming, 
He's limping pretty bad, 

As since the fire he always has. 
But still he's never sad. 



Somehow I'm sort of thinking. 
If such a thing can be, 

That he's as good a Christian 
As either you or me. 



PROMOTED. 



PROMOTED. 
1898. 



"Surgeon Gibbs, promoted. 

And Sergeant Smith, they say, 

M'Colgan there, and Dimphy, 
Promoted all to-dav! 



"Himtington's marines, sir, 

'Twas them that won the fight. 
With thirteen hours of shooting. 
Away into the night. 

*T)ead, sir, you're remarking. 
God bless them, yes, it's true ! 
\Miile serving 'neath Old Glory, 
With Spanish guns in \'iew. 



PROMOTED. 

Tickets driven in, sir, 

They charged right up the hill, 
But broke before the volleys 

We gave them, with a will !'' 

And four there quiet lying, 
In stately silence wait. 

Promoted in the battle. 

And Glory crowns their fate! 

Dear ones await their coming, 

Afar beyond the sea, 
They gave their all, and falling. 

They died for you and me. 



90 



WAR AXZ 



Orcr 



Theie where die tide oi bzzi^ i;^^ isiotii^ii, 

T": and dead in ranks were laid low, 

~ iirt f t * e bt^^le had qKdDen, 

-vr-.ra rr.': ''.re from the t?e- 



WAR AND PEACE. 91 

Sheltered beside the grasses yet springing, 
Over a home in the furrough-marked sod, 

Lo ! a fond watcher, in full tide of singing, 
Sits on a spray of bright golden-rod. 



Cosily resting, contentedly warming 

Small speckled promises under her breast, 

Little dame-sparrow, through all the storming, 
Bright-eyed and resolute, guards her round nest. 



Oh, peaceful isle in the ocean of fighting ! 

Who lifts the ramparts invisible there? 
Who holds the stars, the sky-chambers lighting? 

Who hears the lowest and feeblest prayer? 



After the battle, surgeons and sisters, 
Badged with the red cross pitiful bend ; 

Faint muffled groans and low dying whispers, 
Drearv the echoes that battle-field's lend. 



92 WAR AND PEACE. 

Sweet in a burst of bright trilling glor\-, 

Song of the home-land and home-lands so fair, 

Sings the brown sparrow, uplifting his story, 
''Thanks be to God, for shelter and care!" 



COMING HOME. 93 



COMING HOME. 

Unfurl Old Glory once again 
iVnd fling it to the breeze, 

The First will soon be coming home 
From over Southern seas ! 



The mothers sing around the house ; 

'Tis morning, after night! 
For all of them have heard the news, 

And now their hearts are light. 



We knew the time for breaking camp — 

It seems but yesterday — 
Again we see the steady ranks, 

Again the bugles play. 



94 COMING HOME. 

Then Fairchild gave the drum to Todd 
Who drummed them down the street : 

There were the crowds that thronged the way, 
^^'e heard the tramping feet. 



And Hale was leading at the front. 

So quiet and so true. 
And ever}^ man went out to figlit — 

His best to dare and do. 



And then the waiting at the cars. 
To get the last good-by! 

We knew they couldn't all return. 
We felt that some m.ust die. 



But thinking then of '6i, 
Our sturdy lads we knew ; 

The blood of 76 still flowed 
Beneath the coats of bltie. 



COMING HOME. 95 

And, on the day Manila fell, 

Our fellows took a hand ; 
They charged to music, up the beach, 

And fairly ''beat the band/' 

Somehow they haven't seemed to know 

The science of retreat, 
And when they ran, 'twas towards the foe, 

With quick, impatient feet. 



And will it then be worth the price, 
When all is said and done? 

And will the world be better much, 
For all the battles won? 



Who says that one has died in vain? 

Good blood is never lost! 
And they that gave it, freely gave, 

And counted not the cost. 



Beneath the cjpress some most: stand, 

UncoYcr for ffae dead! 
Into the ramps b^posni ir.r z:>:*d« 

An gallan% Ihex kd. 

Look up and off, to smisel: bonds, 
Wbere beatii^ billows £oam; 
? : ilie OTT across the state; 

T::. z 7 .: :'. : i-woBtg home !* 



MUSTERED OUT. 97 



MUSTERED OUT. 

From far across the foaming floods, 

The tropic currents meeting, 
They sailed through sparkling waters blue — 

And oh, the joy of greeting! 

They come again, but not the same. 

For, by the battles' reaping, 
Some, with the Great Commander's corps, 

Their vigils now are keeping. 

And, from the lofty battlements. 

Their steady purpose noting. 
We seem to hear their "All is well !" 

Out from the silence floating. 



98 MUSTERED OUT. 

With Hale's ''God bless you !" in their ears, 
They came still nearer, nearer. 

To meet their mothers, sweethearts, wives, 
Each waiting moment dearer. 



The bands all played their gladdest strains, 
The bells were welcome pealing, 

And every heart sang "Home, sweet home !'' 
Each added mile revealing. 



With mist>- eyes the soldier sees 
His Annie Laurie waiting, 

And love and tenderness, as one. 
Together there are mating. 



They've brought us back the flag we gave, 
All torn with battle's beating. 

And still 'tis proudly borne aloft, 
'Twas never held retreating. 



MUSTERED OUT. 99 

They're mustered out, from march and halt, 

From bivouac and from battle. 
To hear no more the bugle's call, 

The bullet's whistling rattle. 



Sing of the brave who stood the test, 
Well they deserve their glory; 

Long shall the Colorado First 
Remembered be in story ! 



L.ofC, 



tiwifi, 



F:r 



tk 



THE FIRST PRISONER. 101 

At Watertown the sun had shown the waning of 

the day, 
The children on the village green were shouting 

in their play : 
Dame Barnard plied her busy task beside the 

kitchen fire, 
Her kinsmen up at Lexington had faced the 

British ire. 

The red-coats came. She hears the word, and 

frightened women call, 
They crowd around her as she stands stern, 

womanly and tall. 
She shades her eyes to catch the sight that waked 

her neighbors' fears. 
She sees the dust, a horseman rides, his quick 

approach she hears. 

One man alone she'd never seen of whom she 

stood in fear. 
The blood of '75 is up, the trooper's drawing near ; 



102 THE FIRST PRISONER. 

She queries then if he has slain her brothers in 

the fight, 
He'd fired no shot that day, he said, from early 

morn till night. 

His cartridge-box she opened then, 'twas only 

partly filled, 
''You lieT she said, and every nerve within her 

being thrilled. 
Her hand was on his collar laid, she took him 

from his horse. 
She stripped him of accoutrements, he mutely bore 

his loss. 

She sent him to the guard-house where the river's 

waters pass 
And led his horse within her yard to crop the 

springing grass ; 
She kept it safely sheltered, gave it kindly care 

and feed. 
Until a Natick farmer called and claimed the 

stolen steed. 



THE FIRST PRISONER. 103 

The soldier halted in his gait, he bore a wound, 

'twas slight. 
Yet sore enough to check him in the eagerness 

of flight : 
For heroes, in defense of home, were ready for 

the fray. 
And, in retreat, the regulars were hurried fast 
- away. 

In coming into Watertown the prisoner met his 

fate. 
To Boston he would ask the way, but he was 

asked to wait : 
Then soon he took to drumming for his captors 

on the street. 
And "Yankee Doodle" was the tune that first they 

made him beat. 

This tale of war Dame Barnard told when many 

years had passed. 
At ninety-five her eyes still flashed, her speech 

came quick and fast: 



104 THE FIRST PRISONER. 

I sing the song to memorize the storj' of the deed, 
The spirit true of '76 has never gone to seed. 

'Twas long ago at Concord's bridge the whistling 

bullets sped, 
'Twas long ago the rebels stood and saw their 

fallen dead, 
The rebels were the patriots, our patriotic sires. 
Their deeds shall ever light the blaze of Fame's 

eternal fires. 



WITH THE FLEET. 105 



WITH THE FLEET. 
1898. 



O breath of May, O spicy breeze, 

Borne through the spray of Southern seas. 

Where smoke of battle lay ! 
What of the fiery, roaring crash, 
The leaping flames that flung their flash 

Across Manila bay? 



Had Yankee valor lost its zeal? 
Hear once again the ringing peal 

Of cheers from off the decks ; 
And see the turrets dealing shell 
To trembling ships — 'twas but to tell 

Of sinking Spanish wrecks! 



106 WITH THE FLEET. 

They circled off Manila town, 
Then on Cavite bearing down, 

The fleet sailed bravely in. 
Twas on the bridge that Dewey stood, 
And O, it did a sailor good. 

To see him stand and win! 



Wide fell the screaming Spanish shot, 
All wildly aimed and driven hot — 
Who says they were not brave? 
The day was won. and, in the light. 
The vanquished raised the flag of white- 
Columbia ruled the wave. 



ON THE OLD CAMP GROUND. 107 



ON THE OLD CAMP GROUND. 
1898. 

The sun has set ; from street to street, 
Within the pacing sentry's beat, 
Again the song of the field goes round, 
^Tenting to-night on the old camp ground !" 

Where are the lads of sixty-one. 

Who paid the price of battles won ? 

The roll is long and the answers few. 

But the North and South, they are leal and true. 

And now no picket lines divide. 
The Blue and Gray tent side by side. 
They keep together their bivouac bright. 
And old songs float on the breeze to-night. 



106 ON THE OLD CAMP GROTXD. 

T ' d the Rebel yeU, 

7 r zry zi rreedom tell, 

S / r : : shoulder, in line thej- tramp, 

A: :.7.i::i Old Glory tbey make their camp. 



-in a chorus sof: 

:.3tes of the echoed soond, 
: >: ic : an the old camp groandf* 



A WAYSIDE GREETING. 109 



To Ian Maclaren 

A WAYSIDE GREETING. 

Good Dominie, of ready pen, 
Thy kindly, tender heart we ken ! 
And, in the name of auld lang syne. 
We stretch our eager hands to thine. 

And deem it not presumptuous quite. 
If we shall covet e'en the right 
To call thee friend and welcome speak. 
To this our home of plain and peak. 

We've walked together up the Glen, 
By rushing stream, o'er moor and fen ; 
Cherished the hours when we did bide 
The bonnie brier bush beside. 



110 A WAYSIDE GREETING. 



And wilt thou be our Domsie kind? 
And on some morning may we find 
Thee waiting in the kingdom there, 
Whither through weary years we fare? 



We thank thee for MacLure and Jess ! 
In all Drumtochty we confess 
An interest that marks the skill 
Which shaped the vision to thy will. 



Let not thy pen rust on its way ; 
But further let thy fancy play, 
While we thy hostage friends give ear, 
To catch the music of thy cheer. 



A WAYSIDE GREETING. Ill 

And when between us swells the sea, 
Our longing thoughts shall turn to thee, 
While fondly decking memory's shrine 
With heather and with columbine. 

Arthur Ward. 
Denver, Colorado, 
March, 1899. 




112 BEYOND THE SHADOWS. 



BEYOND THE SH.\DOWS. 

There have been many dreary times 

That saw no shining sun ; 
Through leagues of rough and desert paths 

My wandering way has run. 



And yet I love this world of ours, 
Of earth and sky and sea ; 

How can I leave it for a world 
Of dim uncertainty? 



Ever I seem to see that hour, 
When birds awoke the morn 

That ushered in the gladdest day 
That ever met the dawn. 



BEYOND THE SHADOWS. 113 

Oh, Master, after death alive. 

When man's best light had gone, 
There, in that garden of Judea, 

Our dearest hope was born ! 

Oh, morning, on the hills of life, 

Blushing so rosily ! 
Can morning o'er the sunset wave 

Be fairer less to see? 

I know I cling to present scenes, 

To earthly friends and kin. 
But to the border-land of faith, 

Oh, let me enter in ! 



114 INTROSPECTION. 



INTROSPECTION. 

Sacred the attar of our memories' June, 

Whose shattered flasks shed perfume rare; 

Still breathing through the pulsing air 

In subtle movement to a voiceless tune ; 

No fragrance can be wholly lost but must, 

When crushed and bruised from out the leaf, 

Like incense rise, a votive grief, 

In soul to live, when all is changed to dust. 

Couldst change the deathless sense of what has been ! 

Better to weave the loss and gain. 

Till Heavenly hours shall voice the strain 

Whose hidden notes had been unseen. 



CHORDS OF HOPE. 115 



CHORDS OF HOPE. 

Oh, fullest Love that never fails, 
However dark the night, 

Above the cloudy mists of doubt 
We look for morning's light ! 

We seek that Presence once again 
That sorrow hid away. 

Beyond the bearing of the cross, 
We see the flush of day. 



We praise when Easter sunlight shines, 

When Easter lilies bloom 
And birds in hallelujahs wake 

The silence of the tomb. 



116 CHORDS OF HOPE. 

And if by faith, perchance, we hear 
Thy gracious message fall, 

Then may we heed the voiceless word 
And answer to the call ! 



And to no creed of death we bow, 

For all the bound are free. 
Oh, Carpenter of Galilee, 

Our life is all in Thee. 



SCATTERED BI^OSSOMS. 117 



SCATTERED BLOSSOMS. 

I knew not what my part might be 

In soothing care away, 
I knew not how to Hft the clouds 

That drifted o'er the day; 

Until I dropped one blossom bright, 

AAl fresh in sweet perfume. 
From out my grasp that scarce could hold 

My fragrant wealth of bloom. 

An eager waiting hand was stretched 

To lift the fallen flower, 
I saw my mission in the chance 

That brightened all the hour. 



118 SCATTERED BLOSSOMS. 

.\nd now I watch for outstretched hands 

That call me day by day. 
And scatter blossoms joyously. 

Along the busy way. 



We linger as we say ''Good-by !" 
Our message fully penned; 

And with a slow reluctance write 
The ^Tinis" at the end. 



AUG 1 9 1902 



AUG i ^ iii02 

iCOPvnn. TnriT niy. 
Sep- 2? 1902 



Descidfisd tsngSie E 
TioMM Daie: Oct 2009 

PreservationTechnologies 







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